


Prince of Whales

by SCFrankles



Category: Muppets Tonight, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bit Shippy, Gen, Humor, The Case of the Red Herring (Muppets Tonight sketch), Whale!Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 08:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: Man meets whale. Man loses whale. Man finds whale again. Whale eventually retires to Sussex.





	Prince of Whales

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguinity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/gifts).

> I had the idea for this fic while investigating Sanguinity's [extraordinarily inspiring sign-up](https://holmestice.dreamwidth.org/515579.html) for the Summer 2019 round of Holmestice. And I've now finally written it, as a warm-up for this coming Holmestice round and in the hope it will cause Sanguinity some minor amusement ^__^ 
> 
> I don't think the relevant Muppets Tonight episode is online any more. But you can see Whale!Holmes' entry on the Muppet Fandom Wiki [here](https://muppet.fandom.com/wiki/Sherlock_Holmes_\(whale\)). And you can see the transcript for the episode [here](https://muppet.fandom.com/wiki/Episode_206:_Paula_Abdul/transcript). Search for 'Theater of Whales' to find the sketch.
> 
> Not betaed, as my sister is currently greatly involved with refelting our porch roof, and I was too embarrassed to explain the 'verse to her.
> 
> * * *

_A reprint from the reminiscences of _

_Jona H. Watson, M.D._

  
  
  
I first met Holmes soon after stepping off the boat in Plymouth. _Very_ soon after stepping off the boat. Weakened from my injury during the Battle of Maiwand and the enteric fever contracted during my recovery thereafter, I misjudged my footing on the ship’s gangway and ended up in the Channel. I had no time to even consider panic though, as I was swiftly rescued by a passing and agile whale, who scooped me gently up in his mouth and deposited me on dry land. Though I did not know it at the time, this was Mr. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, on his way back to London after concluding a case in France.

And at that time I assumed I might never know who my dashing rescuer was. I was bundled away to towels, dry clothes and hot, sweet tea, while the whale slipped without fuss back under the water and swam elegantly away.

It was by mere chance that our paths crossed again. I had drifted towards London, and through boredom, and inexperience with living on a budget, was spending far too much money. I was thinking of moving on to pastures new and had gone out to the Criterion for a last evening’s entertainment before my approaching departure.

Sitting in the bar, I idly glanced through a newspaper I had brought with me and an intriguing article caught my eye. Some kind of to-do at my old stamping ground, Bart’s. A man had been injured and I recognised the name. Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Bart’s. I must admit it was more out of a relieved feeling of at last having something worthwhile to do, rather than out of a sense of pure friendship, but the next day I decided to take myself off to visit young Stamford and see how he was recovering.

And in Stamford’s ward I found there was another visitor for him. My whale! I surprised myself with how happy I was to see him again. Stamford swiftly introduced the two of us and told me the full story behind his unfortunate injury. Holmes regularly visited Bart’s to make use of their laboratories, but was not as adept on land as he was in the water. He had accidentally rolled on Stamford when Stamford entered the same room unexpectedly and hence Holmes’s somewhat guilty visit to the wounded party.

The reason for Holmes and I being in the hospital did end up getting a little neglected though. We sat there, one each side of the bed, leaning across the patient and talking continuously. I found Holmes utterly fascinating and was somewhat taken aback that the feeling appeared to be mutual. I fear we rather forgot about poor Stamford until he pointed out that our leaning across his mangled body was causing him some trifling agony and perhaps we would like to take our ‘flaming billing and cooing and go and get a room’. Oh, dear Stamford and his ready wit! Though his suggestion of our sharing rooms was an outstanding one. Both Holmes and I were in need of decreasing our expenditures.

We found excellent digs in Baker Street, on the upper floor of number 221. The landlady, Miss Weatherington, did have some misgivings but Holmes quickly squashed them. And once I had managed to retrieve the lady from underneath Holmes’s bulk, I offered her a handsome increase on the rent if she were still willing to take us.

We were in! Number 221B, Baker Street was officially our new abode.

We quickly became inseparable. Though I would never reach Holmes’s level of detective skills, he relied on my physical assistance in so many cases. Never have I been prouder of being the correct size to enter houses and vehicles without causing structural damage!

Ah, they were wonderful times.

There was the incomparable Miss Irene Adler, who managed to best the world’s only consulting detective. Holmes had previously had little patience and admiration for the non-mammalian water dwellers but for him she will always be _the_ whitebait.

Then there was the dastardly Professor Moriarty, who wrestled Holmes at the top of the Reichenbach Falls until they both went over into the foaming waters below. Moriarty was heard of no more but Holmes was able to swim home of course. (I did cautiously ask him why this journey had taken him _three years_ but he simply waved his flippers as explanation, and fearing a ‘rolling,’ I let the matter drop.)

And then there was Black Peter, who attempted to harpoon Holmes and caught me with the weapon instead. It was a mere scratch but revealed such love and loyalty in Holmes’s wonderful eyes! (Well, in the eye nearest to me anyway. Difficult to look Holmes in both eyes simultaneously.) To see such emotion, it was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds!

And unfortunately there _were_ many wounds, living with Holmes. He never truly adapted to living on dry land and caused many accidental injuries. The princely rental sums were not enough to prevent Miss Weatherington from starting to lose patience, and despite our knocking through and turning all the upper lumber rooms into one large bathroom for Holmes, it was never possible to keep his skin as moist as he would prefer.

In the end it was not a surprise when Holmes cut his career short and purchased a portion of sea off the Sussex coast. Somewhere to live quietly and to raise prawns. And for once I was unable to follow where my friend went. Holmes had done his utmost to live on dry land, but for me, living permanently in the sea was an impossibility. Perhaps for the first time I began to grasp just what Holmes had given up through his choice to live amongst land dwellers and solve our mysteries for us.

I touched on the subject on my very first visit to him. I had deposited my luggage at the local inn, hired a dinghy, and rowed out to meet him. I was pleased to find him well, and he in turn was gratifyingly happy to see me.

He laughed when I hesitantly tried to express my appreciation of his living amongst us on dry land all those years.

“It was my choice, dear boy! My brother Mycroft is my superior when it comes to the art of deduction but he is satisfied to forever remain in the sea. I wanted to find my own sphere and make my own mark on the world!”

His expression softened.

“And I would not have had the honour of becoming your friend if I had remained in my native environment.”

I felt my heart swell but I also felt terribly sad. We would now be spending a great deal less time together. This was not goodbye but it was goodbye to an important part of our lives. I gathered my thoughts in an attempt to express them.

“Holmes, the honour was all mine.”

I rested my hand on his flipper and gazed sincerely into his eye.

“My dear fellow, I had a whale of a time.”


End file.
